Let's Shake Some Snow
by Aragarna
Summary: Christmas is often a family matter, but family is a matter of who you let in. Peter lets Neal in for Christmas, and Neal learns important facts about his friend's family history. Sorta crossover with Carnivale, set in a White Collar world.


**Author's Notes: **_A huge thanks to the fantastic sholio for the beta ! Knowledge of Carnivale isn't necessary, everything is explained. More notes at the end._

**Let's Shake some Snow**

**18****th**** of December**

Cheerful noises in the bullpen took Peter away from the file he was reviewing. Several agents were gathered around Jones' desk, engaged in what was obviously a pleasant conversation. No doubt they were discussing their plans for the holidays. It seemed that it was all people had in mind these days. Not that it particularly bothered Peter. On the contrary, the excitement of the approaching Christmas holidays generally helped lifting the mood of the office, otherwise somewhat dull during the shortest and coldest days of the year. Winter was barely beginning, but in everyone's mind it would not weight in until a few days after the New Year.

Peter himself was anticipating the couple of days off that – save for an emergency – he would be enjoying in less than a week now. On Christmas Eve, El and he planned a lovely dinner, just the two of them. Then, on Christmas day, they would go upstate to visit his parents and have their traditional family reunion. Nothing fancy nor original, but it would be 2 full days away from the office and the hectic life of New York City.

Looking down at the bullpen, Peter couldn't help but notice that the usually cheerful Neal Caffrey didn't seem to share the general positive mood of the office. He who was always eager to entertain an audience of impressionable probies wasn't taking part in the ongoing conversation right next to his desk. Actually, he was doing his best to ignore the little crowd and seemed a little annoyed by the agitation. Neal trying hard to focus on his mortgage fraud case, this was something Peter didn't see every day.

Of course, Peter had a little idea of the reasons why Neal wasn't sharing the Christmas spirit. For most people, Christmas was a family matter. Now that he knew the chaos that was Neal's family history, Peter could only understand his friend's resistance to the cheerful mood of the holiday. The agent had noticed that it seemed harder on Neal this year than the others they had been working together. Or, maybe it was just that this whole year had been particularly difficult for his friend.

Peter had tried once or twice to talk to Neal, but the young man had closed down his shell. Neal had been through enough lately, and Peter didn't want to push. Eventually, Neal would open up again. In the meantime, Peter would give him all the space or the support his friend would need. This was one lesson that Peter had learnt the hard way.

Yet, Peter couldn't help but try and think of anything that would cheer Neal up a bit, or at least something that would free his mind from his current anxiety. An idea had popped up into Peter's mind a few days ago. At first, Peter had thought his idea was brilliant. Neal would be so grateful that it would be worth the ammunition he would get for future use against Peter. But on a second thought, it was probably a terrible idea. Neal might feel uncomfortable, out of his element, and in the end, wouldn't it just make him feel more miserable to be shown what he couldn't have?

Of course, Peter had sought Elizabeth's advice. She had smiled, said it was very generous of Peter, though she understood his reservation. The best thing, she had said, was to ask Neal, present him the offer and let him choose. She was right, as always. So Peter had decided to talk to Neal when he had a chance.

When Neal got up and went to the coffee machine, Peter followed, cup in hand.

"Hey Neal."

"Hi Peter. I'm almost done with the case. I think it's the wife. I still need to check her credit card records to confirm her presence at the party at the time of the crime."

"I was actually checking that. She was," Peter said happily. "I think we got her!"

Peter filled his cup and sat at the little table in the coffee corner, gesturing Neal to join him. "Why don't we sit for a bit?"

Neal froze, instantly on alert. Peter couldn't help a laugh. "You're not in trouble! I just want to talk."

Neal immediately relaxed, all the same still throwing an inquiring look at his partner. Cautiously, he sat at the table, opposite to Peter, and waited. Peter took a sip of his coffee, suddenly unsure how to begin the conversation. Finally, taking a deep breath, he jumped in.

"Do you have any plans for Christmas?"

Neal frowned. His shoulders slumped slightly. Pretending detachment, he shrugged. "Nope."

Probably not the most elegant way to start, but Peter had to ask first. After all, Neal might have had plans. June had invited her young guest to come and see her family for the holidays, but Neal hadn't been allowed to leave his radius without being escorted by an agent. Even though Peter knew better, after his little escapade to Cape Verde, Neal was still considered a flight risk. And obviously all Peter's agents had better things to do on Christmas than escorting an almost reformed criminal informant.

"I though, maybe, you had something planned with Mozzie…"

"Oh you don't want to know what Mozzie thinks of Christmas, believe me!"

Peter tilted his head. "Right. Look," he continued after a pause, "I know you wished to get out of your radius, or at least go to the new exhibit at the Guggenheim, but no agents are available."

"I know, Peter. That's fine, really. I understand." Neal was doing his best to hide his frustration, but Peter was no fool, he could see right through him. Not only did his friend deserve a decent holiday time, but he also needed a break from it all.

Ignoring the interruption, Peter went on. "You know I would have come with you if I could but –"

Neal cut him off impatiently. "What is your point?"

Peter raised his hand in a sign of peace. Neal really needed a break.

"I have an offer."

Intrigued, Neal raised an eyebrow.

"It is just an offer. Don't feel obliged to say yes. If you don't feel like it, that's completely fine." Peter waited for Neal to acknowledge he had understood and continued. "El and I are going upstate to visit my parents. I told you that." Neal nodded in agreement. "Well, I thought that maybe, you would want to join us."

Neal's eyes widened with surprise. His mouth dropped open.

"You're inviting me to go and visit your parents?" he asked, incredulous.

Peter gave a slight shrug. "That's the best I can do. I can't stay with you. I don't see my family very often and this is important to them. And to me."

"You're inviting me to go and visit your parents." Neal repeated.

"I know this is probably not what you had in mind –"

"No, not really!"

"You don't have to come if you don't want to."

"Are you insane? Of course I want to come!" Neal's eyes were now sparkling. A bright smile illuminated his face. "I wouldn't want to miss the opportunity to meet the people who made the one and only Peter Burke."

"You know, it's just a family reunion. The countryside, an endless meal, lots of wine, and probably lots of snow too."

"But with Mr. and Mrs. Burke!" Neal beamed. "No no no, you can't back out, it's too late. I'm in," he concluded with a huge smile.

Peter laughed lightly as he got up. "Perfect, it's a deal then."

Neal jumped on his feet, catching Peter by the elbow and forcing him to turn around.

"Wait. Where's the catch?" Neal asked, suddenly suspicious.

Peter giggled. "You're really bad at this Christmas spirit thing, aren't you? There is no catch, it's just Christmas. Come on, now, let's go catch our greedy wife."

"No Christmas spirit for the bad guys, huh?"

"Nope."

**19****th**** of December**

The next day, Neal rushed into Peter's office. Not losing time in useless small talk, he went directly to the point.

"Who'll be there?"

"Good morning to you too, Neal," Peter retorted. "What are you talking about?"

"At your parents', for Christmas. Will it be only your mom and dad?"

"Ah. Well, no. There will also be my sister, her husband and their 2 kids. You're lucky we're not a big family."

Neal made a strange face. "Hmm. So… Could I have a day off this week, I'll need to go shopping to find presents for everyone."

Peter couldn't help an amused smirk, watching his friend suddenly caught up by the Christmas fever.

"Don't worry about that," he said. "Just bring yourself."

"For the kids at least?"

Peter shrugged. "They're already spoiled enough. Don't worry, they'll have more presents than they will be able to bring home!"

"Still, I should at least bring something for your parents. We should never come empty-handed."

"Oh look at you, the perfect guest," Peter smiled. "Ellen taught you that?"

"Actually it was my Mom," Neal said, a small smile appearing on his lips as he lost himself for a moment in memories.

"Why don't you do that great double chocolate pie of yours that El loves so much? I can guarantee that after dessert you'll be definitely adopted by everyone."

"You're sure?"

"I've tasted your pie. I'm sure."

Visibly satisfied and reassured, Neal turned around to leave. "Ok then. Thanks Peter. See you later," he said happily as he left Peter's office and went back to his desk.

**23****rd**** of December**

"Did you tell them who I am?"

"Yes, Neal, I did."

"What did you say?"

"Who do you think you are?"

Neal remained silent and looked down. Something was obviously bothering him. Peter was driving Neal home after their last day of work before the holidays. No emergency had come up, so they both had Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off. Peter had asked Neal if it was okay with his friend if they'd come and pick him up at 9 the day after tomorrow. And suddenly, Neal had seemed anxious.

"I'm a convicted felon," he whispered.

As they reached June's house, Peter stopped the car, and turned to face Neal.

"Is that how you define yourself, a convicted felon?"

Neal shrugged and didn't answer.

"Neal, look at me." Neal raised his gaze and met Peter's. "You are a convicted felon, and I told them. But you are much more than that. Don't you see that?"

"But doesn't it bother them? I mean, you're a whole family of honest people, and here I am…"

"The convicted felon."

Neal nodded.

"They have heard about you before. They know you're that smooth and slippery criminal I've caught… twice," Peter added with a smirk. Neal made a face. Peter went on. "They know we're now partners, working together to catch bad guys." Peter paused before concluding: "And they know you're my friend."

"And they're cool with it?" Neal asked, still a little unsure.

"Should they worry?" Peter countered.

That caught Neal off-guard. "No, of course, not! But…"

"Then, it's all good." Peter cut him off gently. "Trust me, just bring your usual charm, your hat and your pie, you'll do fine."

"So you agree my hat's good," Neal grinned.

"Should I tell them not to use their silverware?"

Neal faked being truly offended. "Oh Peter! I would never!"

Peter laughed. "I know, now get out, I'll see you in 2 days."

**25****th**** of December**

On the morning of Christmas, at 9:00 Neal was on the threshold of June's mansion, draped in warmed clothes, his pie carefully wrapped in paper and plastic. The morning sun cast its light, though it wasn't spreading much warmth. The snow was shining with thousands of sparkles in the light. Neal took a long breath, inhaling the brisk air. It would be a beautiful cold day.

At 9:05, the familiar Taurus parked in front of the house. Neal rushed inside, welcomed in the back seat by an enthusiastic Satchmo.

"Merry Christmas!" Neal greeted the Burkes, as he patted the golden dog.

"Merry Christmas to you." Peter and El answered in a perfect chorus. "Sorry you'll have to share the back seat with Satchmo," El said, turning around in the passenger seat. "He is usually calm during car travel, but he does take a lot of room."

"Don't worry about it, I'll be just fine," Neal said with a smile, carefully putting his pie on his lap.

For most of the travel, Neal remained quiet, mostly looking through the window at the landscape passing by. Gradually they left the familiar neighborhoods of Manhattan, crossing the residential suburbs, places they rarely visited. Then they reached the border of the city, progressively passing from urban areas to countryside. And gradually, Neal felt a feeling of freedom growing inside. Of course, if he thought about it, he wasn't really free. He was there because a federal agent was keeping an eye on him. He couldn't get out of the car and leave if he wanted to. Well, actually, if he really wanted to run, he would find a way to skip Peter's surveillance. But Peter wasn't there to keep watch, because Peter knew that Neal didn't want to run.

Sure, there had been Cape Verde. But it wasn't the same. For the first time in a very long time, Neal was travelling, but wasn't on the run. He wasn't running from somewhere, he was actually going somewhere, and didn't have to worry about looking over his shoulder. And that was made all the difference from his escape to Cape Verde. Of course, it wasn't that much of a journey. It was a simple ride across state. They wouldn't even cross a state border. But it didn't matter. Neal felt free, and safe.

Serene, rocked by the engine and enveloped by the warmth of the car, Neal felt asleep.

When Neal reopened his eyes, Peter was parking the car in front of an old house. Neal opened the door and a breath of fresh air made him shiver as he unfolded himself out of the car. The layer of snow there was twice as thick as in Manhattan, covering everything, the roofs, the gardens, the trees. Neal blinked repeatedly, the time to adjust to the light.

Peter opened the other door to let the enthusiastic Satchmo out, and the dog, visibly in familiar territory, cheerfully jumped out of the car, rushed to the gate of the garden, which El opened for him, and bounced into the giant garden, enjoying his own freedom.

Following Peter, whose arms were loaded with packages of all sizes and shapes, Neal crossed the white garden, as El cautiously closed the gate behind him.

El was about to ring the bell when the door flew open.

"I knew I heard an engine!" A tall woman, with short grey hair greeted them, all smiles, as she stepped aside to let them in. "So good to see you! How was your drive? Let me take this."

Peter and El dropped their coats and shoes, and engaged in the ritual chit-chat and greetings with Mrs. Burke.

"Merry Christmas Mom," Peter said as his mother hugged him. "The roads have been plowed, it was a smooth drive. A little crowded as we exited the island, but no big deal."

"Good. It's so good to see you." Turning toward Elizabeth, Mrs. Burke looked at her and smiled. "Elizabeth, you look fabulous."

Elizabeth smiled back as, at her turn, she received a warm hug from her mother-in-law. "Thank you, Sue, you look great too. Did you do something to your hair?"

"I slightly changed the cut. George says it makes me look like a teenaged tomboy," she said with a crystalline laugh.

Neal was standing there, unsure on how not to intrude, but Peter came to his aid.

"Mom, this is my friend Neal," he said as he put his hand on Neal's shoulder.

"Neal, it's such a pleasure to meet you, after all this time!" Mrs. Burke said, as she gave Neal a giant hug. Okay, so now Neal knew who Peter got his bear hugs from.

"Pleasure is mine, Mrs. Burke," he said with a wide smile.

"Oh please, call me Sue!"

"Alright, Sue. I've made dessert," Neal added, handing her his pie.

Excited sounds suddenly burst from the living room, as two boys stormed out, followed by a young couple. Peter's sister and her husband, Neal guessed. In truth, there was no way to mistake them. The young woman looked exactly like her brother, only with more delicate and feminine features. As they came to greet them, Neal noticed her brown eyes, intense and warm, and the little dimples on her cheeks, enhanced by the smile that illuminated her face as she spotted Peter.

After exchanging a long and warm hug with his sister, Peter made the introductions.

"Neal, this is my little sister, Katie. This is John, her husband. Katie, John, this is Neal."

"Oh Neal, we've heard so much about you!" Katie said. "Boys, say hello to Neal."

The two boys – David and Kevin, Peter said – waved Neal a quick hello.

"George!" Sue called.

Mr. Burke finally came out of the living room, a miniature truck wheel in one hand, a screwdriver in the other, and a kind smile on his face.

Another round of hugs and greetings later, Neal found himself seated on the sofa of a cozy living room, filled with a Christmas tree heavily decorated and a happy mess of unwrapped presents with the two boys – and their grandfather – in the middle. There was a nice fire sparkling in the fireplace. A glass of wine in his hand, Neal was squeezed between Elizabeth and Sue. The three women were engaged in girl talk while simultaneously making sure everyone had been served drink and petit-fours. Peter and John were catching up on their respective work. Mr. Burke had finished building a toy truck for Kevin – about 9 years old, Neal judged – and the two of them were now testing its loading resistance, filling it with marbles. David – probably 5 – was absorbed in a picture book.

Neal had a flash, an old memory, the same day, in another life. Their Christmas tree was much smaller, but he and his mom had decorated it together. Neal was very proud of it. He remembered showing it to Ellen, who was there on Christmas day. Santa had brought Neal a huge picture book – at least back then, it seemed huge for 5-year-old Danny Brooks. Danny was so fond of this book that he had read it until the pages started falling out. At first, his mom or Ellen would read him the story. Then he had learnt to read, and read it all by himself. He used to know the story by heart. Splash the Frog was his favorite.

Neal's gaze wandered off, from the people to the furniture full of ornaments, to the old pictures on the walls. One in particular caught his eyes and he stood up to look at it more closely. It was a portrait, faded by the sunlight, of a little boy wearing a baseball cap too big for his head. The cap was partially hiding the boy's eyes, but the smile, crossing the boy's face from one ear to the other was unmistakable.

"Peter," Neal called, "is that you?"

Peter looked up and smiled. "Yes that's me."

"Wait, is that the red 'P' of the Phillies on the cap? I thought you were a Yankee fan."

"This is his grandfather's," Sue explained with a wink, as she left the room and disappeared in the kitchen.

Neal raised an eyebrow. "Your grandfather was a Phillies fan?"

A mysterious smile appeared on Peter's lips. "My grandfather was one of the Phillies."

Neal turned away from the picture to look at Peter, his eyes wide open with astonishment. "So baseball is truly in your blood."

Peter was cut off by a call from Mrs. Burke asking him to come and cut the turkey. Everyone followed him into the kitchen. In an instant, with each one doing his or her part, the table was laid, the meal served and all the guests around the table.

Neal found himself totally at ease with the Burke family. Sue and George formed an adorable couple. Exactly how Neal could picture Peter and El in 25 years. Sue Burke, pretty much like El would, made sure everything was perfect for her new guest. George held more back, mostly listening to the various conversations and occasionally making some playful observations. Now retired, George used to work in construction, as a bricklayer when he started at 15, and later as site foreman. Sue was a secretary at the city hall. It was obvious they both were really proud of their children. Katie was a psychiatrist in Boston. Her husband was a doctor working in the same hospital. Neal caught a real complicity between Peter and his sister. They were both protective and seemed to know everything about each other, all the little secrets from childhood and the stories from their daily lives. Neal was surprised to learn from Katie how difficult it had been for Peter during the 6 weeks of his escape to Cape Verde. Neal had hinted on it, but neither of them really talked about those weeks apart. In the end, it was comforting to know that Peter was surrounded by a caring family.

But the most fascinating thing was watching Peter interacting with his nephews. Both of them seemed in awe of their uncle Peter and his stories about catching bad guys who would stupidly turn to face a surveillance camera, or use a stolen credit card. Even the most tedious mortgage fraud seemed captivating. True to himself, Peter was not even trying to make the cases less complicated or the jargon more accessible. But it seemed that it was precisely the complexity of the words that had Kevin charmed, while it was the stupidity of the criminals – as pictured by Peter – that made little David laugh.

It was an incredible contrast with the great team leader but socially awkward Peter Burke who didn't know how to engage with strangers and children out of his line of work. Here, surrounded by his family, Peter was perfectly in his element.

Of course, when dessert time arrived, Neal and his chocolate pie stole the limelight from Peter. His friend had been right, now he was officially adopted. At least, for sure, by the boys, who finished their slice in a flash and asked – very politely – if they could have another one. And also by Grandpa George, who wasn't the lesser gourmand of the table.

Later in the afternoon, while the children were playing outside with Satchmo, everyone returned to the living room, close to the fire place, for a late coffee or tea. Neal went back to study the old family photographs on the wall. The most recent ones were mostly featuring Kevin and David, a few others were of Peter and Katie, with their spouses or from their childhood. Following the wall, Neal moved backward in time. Next to the photograph of Peter Neal had noticed before, there was another one, with him and his sister perched on the lap of an old man. He was wearing the Phillies cap, and had a very familiar look.

"That's grandpa Jonesy."

Neal startled. Peter had joined him without a sound. A soft smile was illuminating his face as he bent closer to look at the framed picture. The photographer had captured little Peter and little Katie as they were bursting into laughter while Grandpa Jonesy was doing great gestures with his hands.

"That must have been a hell of a story," Neal said.

"It probably was. Jonesy was such a storyteller!"

"Jonesy?"

"His name was Clayton Jones, but everybody has always called him Jonesy. He's Mom's father. He always had fantastic tales to tell. Katie and I, we would climb on his lap, and he would tell us incredible stories from his past. Of course, then, we believed him!"

"What kind of stories?"

"Stories about his life with a travelling carnival, of fortune-tellers, magicians, lizard-men..." Peter shook his head with amusement.

Neal was somewhat confused. "I thought he was a baseball player?"

A shadow furtively passed through Peter's eyes. "He was. But then he became a carny. Here," he pointed at another photograph on the wall. "That's the troupe. They were quite a mismatched family, but a family nonetheless, and Jonesy always spoke very fondly of them."

It was a very old sepia photograph. Colorful tents and a great wheel were visible in the background. On the foreground, a group of a dozen were standing in front of a truck. Among them Neal noticed Siamese sisters, a bearded woman, a blind old man, a dwarf, a couple of bored teenagers too. Jonesy was standing in front of the truck, hands on hips. His right leg was enclosed in a leather leg brace.

"What happened?" Neal asked.

"When I was a kid, I must have asked him dozens of times. Each time he would tell a different story. One time he told me he was trying to break the fall of a kid who fell from the Ferris wheel. Another time, he was kicking Management's butt. Once, he told me he was chasing my grandmother Libby when he fell in a hole…"

Peter turned away from the picture to face Neal. His gaze was so intense that Neal felt inexplicably moved. It was obvious that Jonesy had meant a lot to Peter.

"I was twelve when he told me the truth," Peter went on. "It was a cold day, like today. We had been playing catch in the garden the whole afternoon, until the sun set and the cold forced us to go inside. He lit a fire and he sat on that armchair. I sat on the floor, close to the fireplace."

Without thinking about it, they had moved closer to the fireplace, and Peter sat on the rug next to it, crossing his legs. Neal sat next to him.

"The story he told me that day wasn't just a story, I felt it. And it had more impact on me than any of the made-up stories he ever told. He was the star pitcher of the Phillies. His arm was the nightmare of all the batters. One day, at the end of a major match, his coach came to him, while he was on the mound. He told him to throw the game. Back then, baseball was ridden with mobsters and dirty bookies. Fixed matches were common. But Jonesy wasn't like that. He played for the beauty of the game. He knew he could give the victory to his team. Bring the trophy home. He didn't listen. He threw a hell of a ball, and marked the point of the victory."

Peter was staring at the fire. Neal could see the flames reflecting in his dark irises, giving him a fierce look. He continued in a low tone.

"They broke his knee in retaliation, with a baseball bat. They broke him. Baseball was his life."

"I'm sorry," Neal said softly.

Peter's eyes were sparkling. There was a strong emotion on his face. A hint of pride too. He remained silent for a while, eyes still fixed on the fire, but seeing something else.

His tone was softer when he resumed. "After all the years, this story remained a sore point for him. I think, with time, and as he managed to get his life back together, he was able to feel some pride in his action. But it took time. Yes, he lost everything. But he didn't lose himself. Always, he hung onto the idea he had done the right thing."

"Really? But if he had thrown the game, he would still have a career."

"That would have meant accepting being part of a crooked team. It was against everything he had always believed in. You know, Jonesy was a simple man. He didn't think things over too much. It wasn't a conscious act. He just followed his heart, and did what he believed was right."

Neal smiled. There was some Jonesy in Peter Burke. "Do what's right, and let the pieces fall where they fall, huh?"

A fond smile lightened Peter's face. "Something like that. 'A crippled knee is better than a crippled soul' Jonesy told me. 'Listen to your heart, and don't let people mess with it. Always do what you believe is right.'"

"He was a good man, your grandfather," Neal said softly.

"He was."

They fell silent for a while, watching the flames dance in the hearth. But there was still one question on Neal's lips.

"How did he end up in that circus?"

"Baseball was his life. Without it, he was lost. He had lost faith, in the sport, in his coach." This time it was clearly anger that Neal could hear in his friend's voice. "You know, his coach, his mentor, he was the one holding the bat. His own coach!"

For some reason, Neal couldn't help but give that coach the face of Philip Kramer.

"He started drinking," Peter went on. "He tried a few jobs here and there, but his heart wasn't in it, and he couldn't keep one more than a couple of months. He wouldn't have lasted long, if it hadn't been for Samson." Peter gestured toward the photograph of the troupe. "That's the little guy, right next to him. They met in a bar, Jonesy told me. But he has no memory how he ended waking up beneath a trailer of the carnival the next morning. Samson offered him to work for the troupe – they needed a strong man to complete the roustabout crew – on the condition that Jonesy would stop drinking. Jonesy had nothing to lose, no ties, so he accepted. It was hard at first. Job was physically demanding, and the circus was light years from his baseball universe. But that little guy, Samson, refused to give up on him. He would shake him up, forcing him not to give up. He would listen too. They connected. Gradually, Jonesy found his place within the troupe. He was made head of the roustabouts. Of course, it was a hard life. It was the Great Depression, and it wasn't easy to make a living as a travelling carnival. But Samson had offered Jonesy a new shot at life. He trusted him, gave a new meaning to his being."

Neal and Peter's gazes met. They didn't say a word, simply exchanged an eloquent smile.

"Your grandfather meant a lot to you, didn't he?"

Peter cleared his throat. "He did. He does. When I was a kid, I would go to him for advice, ask him if he thought I made the right choice. Now, I still wonder sometimes if he would approve of my actions."

"I'm sure he would," Neal said softly.

Peter shook himself and stood, an apologetic smile on his lips. "Anyway, sorry for all the tales. You shouldn't get me started on my grandfather. It could last hours."

"I can testify on that." Elizabeth laughed, as she joined her husband and slipped her arms around his waist. "Come on, guys, it's getting late, Katie and John are leaving. We should probably go too."

Peter put a delicate kiss on El's cheek. "You're right, hon. Let's go."

Katie, John and the kids were all ready to leave. They exchanged goodbyes. Peter gave his sister a long hug, and made the promise to come and visit them more often.

"You too, Neal. You're invited!" Katie called from the door step.

Peter brought El and Neal their coats, and put on his.

"It's been such a pleasure to see you, my children," Sue said as she hugged Peter and El goodbye. Then she turned to Neal. "And it was a great pleasure to meet you, young man."

"The pleasure was mine, Sue. It's been a wonderful day. Thank you."

"I hope to see you next year, then."

Neal glanced at his friend. Peter simply smiled.

"It'd be an honor."

"Don't forget to make that chocolate pie, kid!" George Burke said, making everyone laugh. "And next year, Peter will tell you the story of his cooch dancer grandmother!" he added with a smirk.

"Dad!" Peter protested.

"What? Oh Peter, you really need to tell me the whole story!"

"Get in the car."

"Does anyone at the office know that story?"

"You're not invited next year, after all."

Neal could hear Sue and George laughing on the threshold of their home as they watched them leave away.

The ride home was quiet. El had insisted on Neal taking the front seat, and she shared the back one with Satchmo.

"You have a wonderful family, Peter," Neal said.

Peter nodded. He sure had. And he couldn't imagine what it would be like not to have all those people in his life, those people who had been there for him, who had raised him, taught him the important things of life, made him who he was.

"I'm lucky to have them."

Neal's silence made Peter uncomfortable. His concern that it might not have been a good idea to invite Neal came back. "I know you have a more complicated family," he started, choosing his words carefully. "I didn't invite you to show you what you didn't have. I – Well, maybe I invited you to show what you could have…"

It had made sense in his mind, but it wasn't so easy to say with words.

"So, will you come back next year?" he asked.

"I'll try. No, I will," Neal answered. Then, after a pause he added, "Thank you, Peter."

FIN.

And Merry Christmas to you all ! :-)

**Author's Note 2: **The idea that Peter and Jonesy were related has been on my mind for quite a long time. They have so much in common that it just has to be. And also, more recently, it appeared to me that the Jonesy/Samson relationship could explain Peter's will to help Neal the way he does. And what's better than Christmas to unwrap family history ?

**Author's Note 3:** It is nowhere clearly said which team Jonesy played. All the info the internet can gather will only tell you that he played in a major league team. The whole series, he wears a navy blue cap with a big red C. In episode 1x04, Sofie says is was playing with the Sox. In the first flashback (1x06), the guy with the bat has the same cap, with the C. But in the second flashback, the one where we see Jonesy winning the game (2x09), he, his coach and his teammate all wear outfits, cap included, with a big red P. That's why I went with the Phillies, though it is really not clear. I could have picked up Cincinnati just as well.

**Author's Note 4:** Title is from Samson's famous "Let's shake some dust" to signal the departure of the caravan. :-)


End file.
